Fantasy
by HDUC
Summary: An assignment from UNIT takes the Doctor into the flat of a total stranger who seems very, very familiar.  And given her friendliness, how could he NOT come back for another visit?  Adult!  Oneshot for Ten/Rose fans!


**This is a _Doctor Who / Secret Diary of a Call Girl _crossover. It's a little bit twisted and gimmicky, but hot, and good for the Ten/Rose crowd. I would hope!**

* * *

Fantasy

It was a problem to solve – brilliant. Interdimensional drama, possible alien threat – right up the Doctor's alley. And partnering with UNIT was a more or less welcome harkening back to the old days. Just as long as they didn't get too comfy thinking he was at their beck and call.

But really, when there's a race of Lezharthra Creatures chiseling its way through to Earth via a tiny cross-universal portal, UNIT is out of its depth. Torchwood is a non-entity just now, so who you gonna call for help, James Bond? The Lezharthra have been known to send invisible warriors as scouts before a full invasion. They may already be on Earth, waiting, watching, laughing, unseen. With that in mind, what could the Doctor say when Colonel Mace asked for help? No?

Although, it was going to be delicate. Through some type of semi-dodgy intelligence, UNIT had learned that the aforementioned tiny portal was in some woman's high-rise flat, though the lady herself was clueless, and needed to remain so. Specifically, the portal was a slit, six inches long, less than two millimeters wide and, he'd been told, underneath the bed. This made things tricky. He was used to doing things like this, finessing people, making up stories, fostering trust, but a bedroom? Yikes.

But all he had to do was get in there, get some readings and then convince her to let him in a second time so he could bring back the proper quantity of Leckapse sealant, with the proper pH, to close up the portal.

So he had a task, which was always fun. He was looking forward to examining the rip, the nature of it, the feel of it, and getting his mind round the problem to execute a solution. It's what he did best.

He also had a name and address. That was less fun. He was not looking forward to dealing with this woman. She'd not been described as exactly an easy target, so how the hell was he supposed to get under her bed?

"She's a formidable creature, Doctor," Colonel Mace had told him, more tight-jawed than usual. "But I think you'll find her… well, more or less agreeable."

The Doctor had squinted. "How's that?" Mace's demeanour was that of a man hiding information.

"Just what I said," Mace had insisted. "You'll find her agreeable."

He'd then handed the Doctor a slip of paper. "Why are there two names here?" the Doctor asked.

"One is her real name, the other is an alias." Something was making the man very uncomfortable. "I shall let you take your cue from her as to which name to use when addressing her. You're a man of great resourcefulness – I'm sure you'll be able to ascertain the nature of the situation rather quickly."

The Doctor had wanted to shout out "What the hell are you on about?" but he was harbouring the idea that no power on this great planet could make Colonel Mace tell him what he needed to know about the lady whose bed hid a Lezharthra portal. For some reason. The Doctor was just hoping that the woman wasn't some kind of secret galactic guardian whom he needed to defeat in a dimensionally removed arena, in order to gain access…

But no. As far as he knew, as far as UNIT knew, this woman was fully human, and had no idea that she was in any danger from Lezharthra or anything else in her own bedroom. She was just going about her life, and those were the times in which the Doctor tended to foul things up.

"She'll be expecting you," the Colonel had said. "Six sharp – don't be late. Your name is John Smith, and give her this, if the situation calls for it. It's fifteen hundred." Mace had then handed him a manila-coloured envelope containing a wad of cash – fifteen hundred pounds.

The Doctor was nervous. "Colonel, what do I need to know about this person? Is she dangerous?"

"I daresay that she is not," Colonel Mace had responded, looking the Doctor up and down. "But I'm sure you'll find your way just fine, as you always do in your brand-name trainers."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

Mace had sighed. "Let's just say... the Brigadier described you much differently, Doctor. He'd described you as alternately elderly and wacky, wild-eyed and sometimes rather off-putting. If I had to guess, I'd say he hasn't seen you in a while, nor seen you interacting with the fairer sex. And that's all I have to say on the topic. It's half-past five. She'll expect you in thirty minutes."

_Great. So I'm the pretty decoy now? When the hell did this start happening?_

And now, here he stood, making sure once more that he had the correct flat. His hand went up to the door-knocker, and metal rapped against metal.

A woman opened the door and smiled. "John?"

The Doctor almost passed out.

"Er… erm, hello." He felt incapable of saying much more. He was absolutely stunned. "Sorry, I'm… hello."

"Hello," she chuckled. "You're a friendly guy. Come on in."

The Doctor walked past her, never quite taking his gaze from her. She seemed amused by it, rather than unsettled.

She had strawberry blonde hair, tumbling in large curls over her shoulders. Some of it hung tantalisingly in her face. She had expertly-applied makeup, her Egyptian-like eyes perfectly framed in smoky liner, her already very full lips popped from her face with sparkly pink gloss. She was wearing a slinky sleeveless black dress whose lace v-neck complemented her understated cleavage. Her legs were long and lean, and in her four-inch heels, she could almost look the Doctor in the eye.

"Are you all right?" she asked. She was used to being examined, but this guy seemed really hung up on something. He oozed confidence, in spite of the usual skittishness; normally, one like this, young, attractive, charismatic, wasn't quite so impressed by her. When the man didn't answer, just opened his mouth only to let it gape, she softened. "It's perfectly okay if you're a little nervous. Don't worry – I'm a professional. Whatever you've got going on in your handsome head, I've seen it all. Just try to relax."

"A professional…" the Doctor muttered, trailing off. "Oh! Well… no, that's not… it's just, you look like someone I know."

She smiled. Her mouth was truly admirable, her smile was huge and dazzling. "One of those faces, I guess! Why don't you take off your coat, and have a seat?" she suggested. She reached out for the coat.

"Er, no, erm, thanks. I'll stay standing."

"Oh rubbish," she said, getting behind him to pull the coat from his shoulders. Then she playfully pushed her fingertips against his chest. "Sit down, save your strength. You're going to need it."

The Doctor gulped. "Okay."

He moved round the coffee table and took a seat on the sofa. She hung the coat and came toward him and poured two flutes of champagne, and handed him one. Then she asked, "Do you have anything for me?" She was very gentle, very matter-of-fact, as though it were a business transaction, which was exactly what it was for her. He gave her the money, his hands shaking just a bit. He took a big sip of champagne and willed it to sink in fast.

"So, John Smith." She did not sit. She stood slightly to his right, leaning on one hip. She raised one eyebrow. "Is that an alias? Are you an international spy?"

"You probably get a lot of John Smiths, eh?" the Doctor asked, suddenly realising the daftness of his own self-imposed alias.

She laughed. "Good guess! A lot of guys use a fake name. No need, really, but..."

"All right, _Belle de Jour_," he chided, feeling momentarily bolder. "So, what, your own mother named you after a lamp in a burlesque house?"

She laughed again. "Touché." She nodded at him, vigorously, as though he'd been a worthy sparring partner.

The Doctor was just glad to have chosen the right alias. He would have to make sure not to slip and call her Hannah, or worse…

* * *

The Doctor practically threw himself against the back of the bathroom door, as soon as it was shut. He let out a ragged exhale, and whispered, "What the hell is this?"

In his hands, he held a kit that Belle had given him. A towel, an individually-wrapped bar of soap, a tiny bottle of shampoo/conditioner, a trial-size deodorant, and a disposable toothbrush. He was so taken with this woman and the mind-numbing, soul-crushing, extraordinary coincidence of her appearance (which may not be a coincidence at all), that he'd forgotten why he was there. He slipped mindlessly into the shower, then dried, wrapped the towel around his waist, used the deodorant and brushed his teeth. He folded up his brown suit and left it in a neat pile on the counter.

When he stepped out of the bathroom, the flat was dark.

"Psst," she said.

He looked to his right and there she was, standing all statuesque in her lacy black bra and pants and high heels, at the foot of her bed. Candles blazed at the sides of the room, and soft music was playing. He lost his breath, then. He felt he was seeing something he really shouldn't. That face was too familiar, the body too exposed…

She reached out to him and took a few steps forward. She took his hand and pulled him toward the bed.

"Who am I?" she asked, kissing his neck.

He gulped. "How d'you mean?"

"Am I a nurse? A naughty librarian? A shopgirl?" Between each suggestion, she planted a couple of wet kisses about his neck and face and shoulders.

He pulled away abruptly and took her by the shoulders. "What did you just say?"

"Librarian?"

"No, after that."

"Oh, a shopgirl?" Belle asked, smiling wide, pushing her tongue through her teeth. "You liked that one."

The Doctor opened his mouth to speak, and then stopped. Then he tried again. "Yes, I like that one."

Still smiling wide, she put her arms around his waist and pulled him in close. She lowered her voice an octave, then mused, "All right then. I'm a shopgirl, and you're my customer..."

"No," he found himself saying, his hands on her back, tentatively touching her naked flesh.

"No?"

"Erm," he said looking up at the ceiling, away from her. "I'm a time traveller."

She opened her mouth in amazement, and amusement. Her eyes were doing the smiling while her mouth gaped. "A time traveller?" she said at last. "Wow! That's new."

He shrugged. "Yeah, well… is it okay?"

"Anything you like, love," she said. "So, I'm a shopgirl and you're from the future? Or the past? Or am I the one from _out of time_?" She leaned over and wrapped her lips around his earlobe.

He closed his eyes and sighed. "You're from here and now. I'm from somewhere else."

"The time traveller and the shopgirl?" she said into his ear.

"Yes," he whispered.

"All right then, time traveller," she said, her voice low and saucy. She grabbed the front of the towel and tugged him the last foot and a half to the bed. "Show me what you've got." With that, she pulled the towel completely away, and the Doctor stood naked in front of her. His body was lean and strong, his cock was impressive but only half-hard, so she sat down upon the bed and wrapped her lips around it.

Her mouth slipped back and forth, warm and wet, tight and expert – just the perfect amount of lips, tongue and hand. The jolt of pleasure that shot through him was something he hadn't felt in far too long. It was a sensation he'd forgotten about – like the thrill of riding a roller coaster. He watched her, and she watched him. Those eyes, those almond-shaped, deeply expressive brown eyes of hers… and _those lips_, the beautiful, full, tantalising lips. He'd fallen in love with those eyes from the minute they looked at him the first time with sadness, need, confusion. And he'd long felt those lips were created to do exactly this, to suck his cock as he watched. Just like this.

_Colonel Mace, what have you done?_ he asked himself, tilting his head backward with a deep moan, as she swirled her tongue round the tip of his cock.

Belle reached back and pulled a condom from the waistband of her knickers. But when the Doctor heard the sound of the wrapper, he put his hand on her arm. "No," he said. "Just keep those lips going." His teeth were clenched and his voice came out sounding foreign to him, like a growl.

Never missing a stroke with her hand, she said, "Do you want to come in my mouth?" The eyes were serious, and suddenly the lips were back to their task.

"Oh, yes," he groaned. He couldn't believe he'd heard _that voice_ say _those words_. That voice, the perfect, ringing, identical voice. Suddenly, he could think of a whole list of things he'd like to hear her say.

And as he thought of them, his body was pushed into frenzy. Suddenly, Belle's mouth was moving on him at warp speed, and her hand was acting as a complement. He was on the edge, and he watched her move her head back and forth, concentrating hard on pleasing him, giving him what he wanted, giving him release. Then her eyes moved, bird-like, up to his, and he lost control. He blasted her mouth full, watched the pause as she swallowed, then heard the delicious wet 'pop' as she removed her mouth from his member.

She licked her lips and smacked them. "There now," she sighed. "Better?"

He stared down at her with a shocked expression, his mouth seeming to say _oh_. He felt odd. After a beat, he stuttered, "Oh… y-yes… much, much better."

"You all right?"

"Yeah, I'm great," he said, stumbling to find his towel. He threw it on around his waist and fumbled to tie it. "Right as rain," he told her, smiling artificially.

Belle eyed the towel. "What about the time traveller?"

"Oh, er…" he began. Then blurted out, "Don't worry about it. It was a mad old fantasy anyhow."

"Well, maybe not," she offered, standing up. "Or maybe it's the madness that makes it fun. Just tell me what to do…"

"Wha… oh, I should be going," he said, walking awkwardly backwards. "Thank you, er, so much for your… erm, hospitality. I'll just… you know…"

He disappeared into the loo, and in five minutes, he was back in his brown pin-striped suit, Converse and tan coat, saying goodbye.

* * *

"Good morning, Doctor," Colonel Mace said, a tad too cheerfully. The Doctor had been waiting in a poorly-lit break room, his hand still sitting, unmoved, wrapped around the styrofoam cup of tea someone had brought him twenty minutes earlier. His eyes had been fixed on a tiny imperfection in the drywall, but his mind was light years away. In another universe, in fact.

"Hm?" he said, looking up suddenly, just now aware that someone was speaking to him. He was remembering the eyes, the lips, the voice…

Colonel Mace chuckled. "I said good morning. Did you find the slit?"

"What?" the Doctor half-shouted.

"The portal," Mace said. "The slit, it's six inches by less than two millimetres…"

"Oh yes yes yes, that," the Doctor said, finally moving, sitting forward in his chair. "Oh. No. I didn't. Sorry."

"What went wrong?"

The Doctor stared at him, eyes narrowed for a few moments. "Colonel, I can assume that UNIT has files on me, correct?"

"Yes, of course."

"Does it have information on people, especially the women, who have travelled with me, worked with me and whatnot?"

"Er, some, yes," Mace answered. "Why?"

"Are there photographs?"

"A few."

"Like, which ones?"

"Miss Grant and Miss Shaw, that goes without saying. Sarah Jane Smith, we have more than one photo of her, since you've come into contact with her at different points throughout her life. Then, we know that there was, perhaps, a Gallifreyan lady, though we never obtained much on her, certainly not a photo. After that, we did gain some intelligence on an Australian girl, though I can't remember her name and we don't have a photo, and an American, also with no photo. Then, of course, we have Dr. Jones' photo in your file, and Donna Noble… after that, I don't think we have anything more."

"Hm," the Doctor said. "Is that all?"

"I believe so," Mace said. "I went through the information quite thoroughly just before we summoned you for the Sontaran debacle."

UNIT's knowledge of his companions was tremendously spotty, if Mace was telling the truth. And the man was so, so proper, the Doctor had a hard time believing that he'd be able to lie about this. But he had to be sure. He didn't know why anyone, much less UNIT, would lay a trap for him in the form of Belle, but one never knew. The coincidence was downright alarming.

"May I see the file?" asked the Doctor.

Colonel Mace was surprised, but he said, "Well, I don't see why not."

The two of them went a short distance down the hall into Mace's office. He gestured for the Doctor to sit down in his chair, and then Mace moved to put in his log-in name.

"I'll take care of that, if you don't mind," the Doctor said, brandishing the sonic screwdriver. He wrinkled his nose, trying to seem innocuous. He wanted to give the Colonel no opportunities to hide, cloak, disguise or re-route any information.

"As you like."

The Doctor found his own file, read over it and was satisfied. There were enormous gaps in UNIT's knowledge of his companions. As far as he could tell, they had no idea that there had been _anyone_ in the TARDIS, other than him, between Peri Brown and Martha Jones, much less any details on his relationships with any of them. He did note, however, that their knowledge of his background, personality, Time Lord traits, specialisations, equipment, timelines, et cetera, were comprehensive and disturbing indeed.

"So what do you plan on doing about the portal, Doctor?"

"Well, I'm not sure yet," he answered, logging off.

Colonel Mace sat down in the visitor's chair across from the Doctor. "I trust you tried your best, but we still do need the portal sealed," he said.

The Doctor sighed. He knew how this was going to sound. "I'll need to make two more trips up there."

Mace's face became very militaristic and British. There was very little expression. "I suppose you'll have to do another reconnaissance mission at Hannah Baxter's flat."

_Hannah who? Oh, right, that's Belle's real name. Got to keep things straight!_

"Er, perhaps," the Doctor said. "But why don't you let me handle the details? Let me make my own appointment, yeah? It's kind of personal… you know."

"Very well," Mace said crisply, nodding uncomfortably.

* * *

Hannah came out of her bedroom, dressed for her next appointment. Her best friend Ben was on the phone, probably with The Shrew. He'd been pacing about the living room. He cut the conversation short, hung up, and looked at Hannah with a smirk. "What is that?"

"What d'you mean?"

"I thought you were dressing up for a client," he chuckled.

"I am. This is what he asked for."

"A purple hoodie and trainers?"

"Yep. Purple zip-up hoodie, black trousers, trainers," Hannah said. "And the hair's part of it too."

"Oh yeah, you went lighter. It's very… blonde."

"You know, if you're just gonna judge, then you can fuck off!"

"Sorry, sorry. Are you, like, a character or something?"

"Yeah, sort of."

"Are you playing Steptoe?" he asked, giggling.

"You're being a child."

"What's all that shit on the bed, then?"

"It's what he asked for," she said. "And that's all I'm going to say. Client privilege."

"Sounds like a sicko to me," Ben declared.

"It's a little weird," she agreed. "But I like this one. He's enigmatic."

"Aren't they all?"

"No, they all _try _to be. This one actually is."

The doorbell rang. "Shit!" Hannah spat. "That's him! I told you to get out!"

"Okay, okay," he said, his arms in the air. "I'm going."

He beat Hannah to the door, amid protestations from her. He pulled open the door, and a man in a pin-striped suit stood there with a surprised expression. Never stopping nor pausing, Ben said, "Don't worry, I'm leaving, I'm leaving. Just a friend, and I'm going home."

The Doctor watched him go, and when he turned back, Belle stood before him in precisely the outfit he'd requested when he'd called the service. His jaw dropped. He gulped. He began to think that this was a terrible idea, even though his body told him it was good.

"Sorry about that," she said. "My mate, Ben. He's kind of an idiot."

"It's okay," the Doctor said, stepping inside the flat. "An idiotic third wheel? Sort of adds to the fun."

He slipped out of his coat, and as he did, he heard the crinkle of paper in the pocket. He reached in and pulled Belle's fee and handed it to her. "There's some extra," he said. "For whatever… you know… equipment you had to…"

"Oh, thanks," she said. "But that really wasn't necessary."

"Well…"

There was an awkward silence while the Doctor studied Belle. The resemblance had been uncanny before, but in that outfit, with that hair, he thought he might die from the shock to his system.

"So, how do you want to…" he asked.

"Oh, well, usually how it works is, I give you this, just like before," she said, taking a toiletries kit from the coffee table. "And you go in, shower, you know, do your thing, like last time. But when you open that bathroom door… it's on!"

"It's on?"

"Yeah. The role-play. The information you sent me."

"Okay, I can do that. I'll probably just put my suit back on, if that's all right."

"Fine."

He took the kit and went into Belle's loo for the most nerve-wracking shower of his life.

* * *

The Doctor and Belle came stumbling out of the bathroom, laughing hysterically.

"What the hell was that?" she asked loudly, before breaking into maniacal fits of laughter again.

"That," the Doctor answered emphatically. "Was a Choomang Rockwit, with pustules. Nasty!"

"What was all that... spewing?"

"They eat raw tomatoes," he said. "They love them but can't digest them properly, so when they feel threatened, they come back up. Weird, considering they have three stomachs... but I suppose, the more parts there are, the more that can go wrong. And that little dance that it does when it's captured... oh, don't get me started on that!"

She was still laughing. She wiped her eyes carefully with the tips of her fingers, and sighed the sigh of a laughter dying down. "That's insane."

"I know!" the Doctor agreed, his voice high.

They both approached the bed, which was sitting on cinderblocks and raised by a foot, covered with various knick-knacks. Her laptop (and Ben's, which she had borrowed), both of her mobile phones, her iPod, an old DVD player, controls from a game console. She'd thrown on a Superman lunchbox, a couple of corkscrews, remote controls, a few sex toys, a garlic press… anything with moving parts.

He pretended to flip a switch on some gadget on the bed, and Belle pretended to hang on for dear life.

"Where are we going?" she asked.

"We have to inform the council that we've incapacitated a Rockwit. But to do that, we have to time-jump a bit, to the Rockwit's cousin planet, the Sophtullar Asteroid," he told her. "Don't worry. We'll be back to your mum's in time for tea. Whoa! Hold on!"

She gave a whoop, and grabbed onto the headboard, and leaned back as though she were being thrown into turbulence.

The Doctor threw his leg up onto the bed and pulled one of the laptops in front of him. "What? What? Blimey, they know we're here!"

"Is that bad?"

"Yes, it's bad! Their energy trackers are detecting the vortex in the time rotor! If they reel us in, they'll try to suck out all the time energy to fuel their caravans, but it could destroy the universe!"

"Oh my God!"

"Rose!"

"Yes, Doctor?"

"You have to take the controls!"

"What?"

"I have to cloak the time rotor so they can't find us!"

"You want me to fly this thing?"

"Yes! You've got to!"

She grunted and groaned as she pulled and pushed and made her way over to his side of the bed. He put one of her hands on the handle of a makeup satchel, and the other one on the corkscrew. He showed her how to pump one of the arms to keep the ship flying, and how to keep the handle steady to in order to remain in the time bracket. Or something. He was just making it up as he went along.

Now it was his turn to pull and push. He made his way to the foot of the bed, turbulently got down on his back and slid under the bed. He pulled the sonic screwdriver from his pocket.

"Hurry up, Doctor! I can't hold on forever!" she shouted.

"You're doing fine! Just don't let go, Rose, whatever you do!"

He sensed the tiny portal immediately under the bed, and he sensed also that something had come through it recently. There was static energy buzzing all around it, like a pocket of ionised air. The Lezharthra scouts were almost certainly in our world now – UNIT was right to call him in on this. It was a disaster, and it was dangerous. He trained the sonic on it, and could see that the slit had grown jagged and worn – that meant that lots of things had come through it, and not gentle things.

"Doctor! I think they're gaining on us!"

"Just a bit longer… I've almost got it done, and then we can lose them!"

The sonic measured the area of the gap, and measured the pH levels, so he would know how to match them when he engineered and mixed the Leckapse sealant. The standard wouldn't do – UNIT had known that, at least.

He imprinted the information on his memory, then pocketed the sonic once more.

Now came the fun part.

He got to his feet, and frantically shouted, "No! Not like that!"

He fell upon her from behind, jamming his hand against hers, pretending to show her how to steady the ship. "Oh my God, what did I do?" she screeched.

"You sent us toward the Farulla Galaxy, which is very, very bad," he said. He eased up his grip and stared at the screen, perturbed.

She sighed, taking her hands tentatively from the controls, but letting them rest on the bed. "Are we all right?" she asked, looking up at him, doe-eyed, worried.

"No, we're not," he said gravely, manoeuvring the corkscrew and satchel.

"Well, what's wrong?" she asked, her voice high with the start of panic.

"It's too late, they're already reeling us in."

"But the thingie has been turned off, right?"

"If they find that we've turned it off, they'll... well, I don't know what. But it can't be good."

"Will they kill us?" Her lip quivered and her eyes filled with tears. This girl was good.

The Doctor didn't answer. He just looked at her with an expression that said he didn't want to have to tell her the truth.

She turned her head and let it drop forward with dread. The Doctor was taken suddenly. He pushed his groin against her backside, and she gasped. He pulled her hair aside, and kissed the back of her neck, and then the side. She opened her mouth with surprise, and moaned at the sensation. She pushed herself back into him, and he moaned back at her as he began to harden against the pressure.

"What are you doing?"

"Seizing the moment," he answered against her skin.

"We don't have time..." she protested weakly, even as she moved her head so as to give him access to her neck.

"That's exactly the point."

He covered every inch of her neck that was possible from that angle, and by then, she was panting. "Put your hands on me, Doctor," she murmured. Not quite a whisper, below her normal voice. It was perfect, sounded like music to him, and inflamed him incredibly. His hands began at her thighs and moved up her body, as he buried his mouth against her neck again. He put his hands underneath her hoodie, and felt the lace bra underneath. He kneaded her perfect, small breasts and flicked the tight little nipples. She arched into his touch and seemed to melt into him. Even her sigh, her moan was like soft butter.

His hand ventured down, skimming over her stomach as she shivered. He put his fingers just inside the waistband of her trousers, and then paused. She squirmed against him.

"You've got me so wet," she moaned. "Please don't stop there!"

He pushed further and found her lacy knickers. His fingers slipped behind them and found a hot, moist centre. Her knees seemed to buckle as they snaked between her folds and found her clit, and as her body bent, he shoved his erection against her bottom one more time. They both groaned with frustration, pleasure, the combination of the two.

She leaned her head back against his shoulder. "You're so hard – I can feel it."

He pushed harder against her as two of his fingers glided easily, yet forcefully, inside her. The jerk of her body forced her forward, and the Doctor pushed her against the bed, doubling as a console. She was wedged hard between him and the bed, now panting. She couldn't move, not that she'd want to. She leaned her head back against his shoulder, and he could see her face. Her eyes were shut, but _that mouth _lay open, and intense spurts of breath emerged from her as the Doctor ran his fingers over her clit, inside her passage, then out again.

Her body tightened in his arms, and he could feel her on the edge. "Doctor..." she said, just above a whisper. "I'm so close – make me come!"

He moved his fingers faster, more like a vibration. Her breathing got to breaking point, and she was beginning to let out short, inarticulate wheezes.

"Oh, faster, faster!" she demanded. "Make me come so I can get you inside me!"

He obeyed, and went faster still, and a bit harder. She gasped harshly. He watched her face, took the time to marvel at it, revel in how it felt to see that face, feel his fingers buried in her soaking wet heat, his cock pressed against her perfect bottom, and that voice and those words echoing in his mind. Suddenly, she was there, she was gushing over his hand and the pulsing he felt from her insides became part of this exquisite experience. As did the feeling of her body trembling, and her bell-like moan as her body flew into ecstasy and back again.

She turned where she was, and suddenly, the two of them found each their mouth slathered with the other's. Their tongues searched, their bodies pressed together and ached. Their voices came out in visceral groans.

Desperately, the Doctor grabbed at her trousers, and forcefully ripped open the button and zip. He bent and pulled them down roughly. She kicked off her shoes and shimmied out of the trousers and pants. Then, just as desperately, she plunged her tongue back into his mouth and grabbed at his button and zip. She reached in and pulled out his cock, stroked it tightly and listened to him groan out an expletive.

"Doctor, you're scaring me. What's going to happen?" she asked. Her mouth was downturned, her eyes, again, had gone all moist.

"Rose, just live in the moment," he growled. He took her by the hips, and she hopped, perching upon the bed console. He took her face in his hands and spoke with intensity as she expertly rolled a condom onto him. "It could be now, it could be years from now. I could die, you could die, we could get separated by fate. But all we know that we have is _now_."

She spread her legs and said, "Then fuck me, Doctor. Do it now."

He didn't have to be told again. He stepped forward, filled his hands with the flesh of her bottom and shoved inside her, buried himself in one stroke, and his vision blurred, swimming along with the rest of him. She dug her fingers into his shoulders, he began to thrust. Her mouth flew open and she immediately began to pant like mad. As his body ground and dug into hers, she felt the pleasure rising, and wrapped her legs around his middle to pull him in deeper. She tried to wrap her arms around his neck, but he wouldn't let her.

"No, look at me," he panted. "Look at me."

He pushed in and out, and they both felt themselves boiling, ready to blow. The Doctor reached over her shoulder and turned a screen toward him again.

"Two minutes 'til we dock, Rose!" he shouted. "They'll have us!"

"Oh God," she shouted back. "It's now, Doctor, now or never! Do it harder!"

He thrust harder, faster, following the demands of his body, and she held on with everything she had. Belle watched as his boyish face turned into the hatcheted visage of a man in the throes of a greedy passion. He bared his teeth, his eyes drilled holes into hers, his lips were taught and his breath was ragged like burlap. As tension mounted, and his strokes grew tighter, more like grinding, she wondered if he was mad, a recluse or just a _serious_ geek. But it didn't matter, because she was enjoying him. His fantasy was interesting, the role-play was challenging, and the man himself genuinely turned her on. He was about to come with a spurt like shaken champagne, but starting now, she slid into a fulfilling, full-bodied orgasm, thinking of the fun, the weirdness, the hunger in his eyes. Belle had no idea who Rose was, but she liked her.

As she shrieked and moaned and the inside of her body throbbed with satisfaction, the Doctor was pulled along. She commanded, "There's no tomorrow! Come for me, Doctor!"

He cursed, grunted coarsely, and let go. His body went into spasm as he looked violently into her eyes and came like a geyser.

It seemed to go on forever, and drain him. When he was descending from the high, he pulled out and took a couple of steps backwards, stumbling.

"Whoa, careful," Belle said, hopping down onto the floor. Not that she could stop him falling if he lost his footing, but she grabbed onto his arms and shoulders anyhow.

"I'm fine," he said, patting her on the back. "It's just... intense."

She laughed. "Yeah. Good."

He put his hands on his knees and caught his breath. He looked at this woman, this virtual stranger who seemed so very familiar, and said, "You... you are good."

"So are you, Mr. Smith," she said. "That was fun. Did you hear everything you needed to hear?"

She was referring to the list of phrases he'd wanted to hear her say. "Oh yes," he said. "It was all there."

She smiled, pleased. "Oh, good. Listen, I'm going to go make us some tea. Go ahead and put yourself back together – whatever you have to do, and join me in the kitchen."

"All right."

* * *

The Doctor felt odd, just like after last time. It wasn't physical... physically, he felt bloody fantastic. Mentally, he was torn. This was _such_ a weird thing to be doing, _such _a god-awful coincidence, and _such_ a childish, self-indulgent solution to the problem. _A woman turns up who looks like someone you fancy, and conveniently, she's a prostitute. Well, you've got work to do anyway, why not give her a good shag in the process?_ Ugh.

On the other hand, who was it hurting? He got what he wanted (well, next best thing), and she's a pro, so no harm done. And he would be able to fix the portal problem.

Well, there was no point in splitting hairs or torturing himself over it. He still had one more visit to make.

He found Belle in the kitchen dressed in a Japanese robe, her blonde hair piled in a cascade on top of her head. The "look," the style was removed enough from Rose that he could concentrate on his tea.

"Listen," he said, clearing his throat. "How would you fancy another go with me sometime?"

"I'd like that," she said.

"If I sent you another, er, scenario..."

"I'd like that too."

"Great. Keep your gadgets and cinderblocks handy."


End file.
